The Doctor said, “Alas, but no,

The flu should now be done.

I suspect that it has slowly turned

Into an in-fec-ti-on.

For the next six days, you’ll need a shot

In your fleshy bum

As you wait to see what transpires -

You might want a shot of rum.”

Seven days ago, I woke up in the night with some powerful shivers

I felt I was riding an iceberg down many long rivers.

I was so cold my teeth chattered uncontrollably

And my body was shaking so bad I could hardly see.

What the hell, I thought, as the rapids grew worse

The feast we held was for our friend’s return

To our tropical home in wintertime, no fires to burn.

We go up north mid-spring, too hot here in the summer

We come back at winter; cause staying North’d be a bummer.

Our celebration of their return was going to be sublime

For we all felt the bliss in this wondrous tropical clime.

We had our table all set up with salad, lasagna and meat.

The smells were so darn good we wanted to plop in our seats.

I looked out the window to check the atmosphere.

Was it misty, foggy, smoky or clear?

I wondered, upon arising that pre-dawn morn,

Knowing the smoke would make me feel quite forlorn

For those thousands of acres that had already burned

And breathing in smoke can be harmful, we’ve learned.

Unable to enjoy the outdoors this beautiful fall time...

Doing anything outdoors would be less than sublime.

From across the Pond, a friend came for some meetings

I said, stay with us, when I gave her our greetings.

I will watch your daughter, so lovely is she,

You’ll not have to worry about how she may be.

The spirit world

Will find you

In the least expected ways.

With the doorway to

Heaven or Hell

Being just beyond the haze.

I do not wish to see

Or feel, or sense at any time

That world where we all will be

When we are past our prime.

Words could not express the awe I felt

While kayaking down the river

After three days of rain, clouds and cold

Which seemed would last forever,

Until, that morn, the sun broke free

From that cloudy, rainy misery

And shared its warmth, no clouds to see,

Breaking through Spring fever.

This Piano Man is tall and fit

His strides are long and slow

But when he sits upon the seat

In front of a grand piano

His fingers begin moving with great dexterity

whether he plays slow or fast

His music captures me

Alligator species, we were eager to see.

Would they be hidden,

Or would they just be

Out in the open, in water or on grass

A good chance they’d not be just scratching their ass.

I loved.

An unplanned happening

Of my heart, soul and being.

I didn’t mean for it to happen;

It was something just for fun.

But it happened,

Slowly,

Gradually,

Fully.

What is a palapero? One might ask.

A builder of palapas honed for the task.

But what is a palapa, they then say.

An open-sided dwelling in which to play.

A roof that is thatched with dried palm leaves

Or grasses that are bundled in small, dried sheaves.

From my window I did see,

Movements, peeking erratic-ally.

Who is looking in at me?

Someone that should not be?

I feared to seek

The one to sneak

and take a peek

To be a freak

Or too meek

To meet one as chic

As I am thought to be.

Asking the dusky midnight

With full moon shadows

The dark-lightness is seen with tugs

Of days gone by,

Nostalgic days,

Loving days,

Precious days,

Ne’er to live again,

Only to capture anew.

My soul is awakened by the gentle nudge of a song

That has filtered into the recesses of my mind

As it mingles with the deeds of work and play.

My soul is stirred with a breath of whispered longing

When I hear the harmonizing movement

Of instruments or voices

As it dances with my thoughts.

Have you ever watched the morning grow

From total darkness, no light to show

The bare outlines, which are around

that slowly merge into profound

Shapes and forms, no details yet,

just subtle hints that you regret

not having them remain?

The Hills & Plains, Oh my!

To travel ‘cross

This desert plain,

While heat is bearing down

Naught for miles

But shadow’s stain,

No water to be found.

‘Til we see a glistening sea

Just barely up ahead

Let’s hurry, I beseeched

For thirst doeth abound,

But no matter the hurried speed,

Or the distance we would go,

that sea would ne’er be reached,

a truth filled with woe.

The Sun-Moon.

Gallant in its watch,

Brightly shines

Over Shadow’s edge.

That ol’ black widow

the one that’s on the prowl

That ol’ black widow

her bite will bring a howl

Of fear and pain

that will remain

Until you then fall over

but will you cry

Or will you die

when she makes you her lover

We need to communicate, we say.

It’s a vital part of our being, our growing,

Of being one, yet two,

Of knowing how much there is to love,

And loving what is there.